To Market, To Market



I just returned home from some weekend errands.  The Farmer's Market was this morning and I took some photos in the rain.  It was cold and wet and I knew the "tourists" of market would not be out and it would be a good time to snap some pics.  Such lovely things.  The full album can be found here.  Veggie sets are out everywhere and I am restraining myself from putting tomato plants in too early.  We still need to till the expansion of the garden this season.  It has been so wet, we can't get a weekend to do it. 



      This is one of the handmade soap vendors from market.  They all smell so good I can hardly stand it!  I also happened to go to Whole Paycheck Foods and left infuriated and insulted that organic food costs as much as it does there.  I will not get on my soap box today, but we need a revolution about accessibility to good, organic, local, sustainable food.  Elitist food prices are RIDICULOUS.  That is all on that...for now.


  After market, I went to photograph the yard of a great friend of mine.  He is an unbelievable gardener (as well as a master educator, loyal and hysterical friend, and mentor) and his yard is always stunning.  He is my go-to with all of my yard questions ("Are Calla Lillies really that hard to grow?") and is also an inspiration to me about a great many other things.  We have been friends for more than 20 years ("I knew you when you were good, sister.  Back when you were young!") and his yard needed to be showcased this Spring.  It is all so beautiful everywhere right now.  I am so glad winter is over and the growing season has begun! 


































In a Spring Grove by William Allingham

Here the white-ray'd anemone is born,
Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup;
And primrose in its purfled green swathed up,
Pallid and sweet round every budding thorn,
Gray ash, and beech with rusty leaves outworn.
Here, too the darting linnet hath her nest
In the blue-lustred holly, never shorn,
Whose partner cheers her little brooding breast,
Piping from some near bough. O simple song!
O cistern deep of that harmonious rillet,
And these fair juicy stems that climb and throng
The vernal world, and unexhausted seas
Of flowing life, and soul that asks to fill it,
Each and all of these,--and more, and more than these!


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